


Loss

by Shield_Maiden_of_Sherwood



Series: Dragon Age Collection (Origins - DA:I) [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Cousland is a snob, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Looting is not acceptable, One Shot, Return to Ostagar DLC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-28
Updated: 2017-09-29
Packaged: 2019-01-06 07:21:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12206523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shield_Maiden_of_Sherwood/pseuds/Shield_Maiden_of_Sherwood
Summary: This is a two-shot for my Warden, Ana Cousland! This one is from her first time living through the horrors of the Blight and she's a stuck up noblewoman. Yet, returning to Ostagar after the battle, her attitude begins to change a little and the weight of her situation (parents dead, brother's status is unknown, no more status, ect.) starts to hit her full force and she finally shares a somewhat tender moment with Alistair in Lothering over their mutual loss.





	1. Missing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mrsrockatansky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrsrockatansky/gifts).



After leaving the treacherous Korcari Wilds, the two wardens and Morrigan begin to make their journey north to Lothering. With heavy hearts, the trio silently entered the Tevinter ruins, unsure of the magnitude of carnage they were about to find.

Ana thought back to that moment when she has first arrived. She recalled the sunlight glinting off King Cailan’s golden armor and how excited he seemed. At the time, everything seemed like some bizarre dream and the blight seemed like some made-up scenario that, any minute, she’d wake up in her bed chamber at Cousland Castle. She’d leave her room with her mabari at her side, roused from his slumber by sound of his master padding around the room to get ready for the day. She could imagine walking to the dining hall and having her mother gently reprimand her for her usual tardiness before offering her a seat beside her. She envisioned seeing her father’s concealed smirk as he bit into a piece of toast while Rendon Howe droned on about the day’s events beside him; An annoyed grunt escaping from him as Bryce interrupted him to greet her. 

Now, they walked through the archway and the world suddenly seemed a dull grey that matched the dreary darkened skies which the watery sun did little to improve. Crows cawed overhead as they crossed the bridge, passing the occasional mutilated body amongst the streaks of dried blood.

After fighting the few darkspawn that had lingered after the battle, Ana sheathed her weapon and combed the battlefield and surrounding areas for signs of her brother’s demise. Holding a gloved hand over her mouth, she walked past the bloated and festering bodies scattered everywhere, becoming increasingly desperate as she found none.

“Perhaps he managed to survive?” Alistair said helpfully, his words muffled by his arm as he covered his nose to guard from the stench.

“Or his body is elsewhere.” Ana says, grimly. Tears begin to well up in her eyes and she stealthily wipes them away with her sleeve as she turns away from the gory scene. “We should get going.”

“Not yet.”

She turns to gape at him, taken back by his defiance. “Why not?”

Lowering his arm, he winces at the putrid stench surrounding them but raises his chin. “I want to find Duncan’s...” He begins to say before he gets choked up with emotion. Averting his gaze, he clears his throat. “I want to give him a proper burial. He deserves that much.”

She watches him as he turns and begins to walk away before glancing around. Conflicting emotions surge through her as felt a wave of grief for all the men and women who fought and now laid at her feet. Many of these soldiers were lowborn like Alistair or even criminals; people below her in station and yet, as she stood here among their corpses, grief weighed her down. Alistair was quite some ways away now, his head bent as he checked the corpses he passed for the familiar face of his mentor. Disgusted and confused, Ana jogs after him.

Striding alongside him, she glances over at him. “I know you probably don’t want to hear this,” She begins, earning a questioning look from her brother-warden. “But perhaps, while we look for Duncan, we should pick up things we can sell for coin.” His eyes arrow at her as he comes to a halt.

“These people were massacred because of Loghain’s betrayal and you want to loot our former brothers and sisters in-arms and our camp?” He asks, incredulously. “Are you mad?”

She crosses her arms with a huff. “I’m trying to be practical here! I don’t know if you’ve noticed but we’re all on our own, Alistair. We’re the last two surviving wardens in Ferelden and all we have left are some old treaties that we’re expected to use to raise an army to fight the Blight! How do you expect to do that if we have no food, no proper equipment or no coin to get either of these things?”

Before he has a chance to argue, Morrigan appears from Maker knows where with a large pack strung across her scantily clad chest. “Quarreling again, I see.” She says coolly, coming to stand beside them. Her golden gaze sweeps between them. “Are you two finished? We still have quite a way to go before we get to Lothering.”

“I want to find Duncan first. He deserves a proper burial after all he’s done for the Wardens.” Alistair’s gaze travels down to the pack and he casts her a suspicious glance. “What’s that?” He says, tensely.

Her darkly painted lips curl up into a smug grin. “While you two were busy arguing, I was gathering supplies for our journey.”

“That’s grave-robbing!” Alistair exclaims, his eyes widening. “Put it back!”

“I did not take them from any bodies.” Morrigan scowls.

Her eyes narrow at him as Ana rolls her eyes.  “Maker’s breath, Alistair!” She exclaims, shooting him a glare. “They’re gone! Nobody here is going to care if we take what we need. It’s a matter of survival! I thought that of all people, you’d understand that!” She fumes.

“Why? Because I’m “lowborn”?” He sneers, making air quotes. “I do understand survival but this…” He motions to the pack. “This is criminal! It’s a matter of dignity and integrity! Being Fergus’ sister, I figured you’d know something about that! Apparently, I was wrong.”

“Leave my brother out of this.” Ana growls. Shooting him a glare, she turns her gaze to Morrigan. “What were you able to find?”

“Basic necessities” She shrugs. “Some cookware and a few various items to sell, amongst other things.” She casts a sideways glance at Alistair who crosses his arms across his chest. “Although, if we don’t sell anything to make some coin for food or supplies, I’m afraid the cookware will go to waste.”

“You can melt snow and make nestle tea.” He mutters, glancing around. “That doesn’t require looting the dead.” With a dismissive wave of resignation, he turns on his heel and starts off in the direction of the collapsed tower of Ishal. Exchanging an annoyed glance, the two women follow.

They cross the huge clearing, partially surrounded by burnt and collapsed palisade walls. More mutilated bodies are scattered around the area among dead darkspawn. The snow is so saturated with blood from both sides that it’s hard to imagine that it used to be pure white at one point. As they look around them at the carnage, Ana almost walks into Alistair as he comes to a sudden stop.

“Hey!” She begins to protest before she sees the reason for Alistair’s pause. Among the bodies strewn everywhere lies a giant ogre, flies buzzing around its torn flesh which still has blades sticking out of it.  “Is that…?” She begins to say before trailing off. Alistair nods, attempting to swallow the lump that had formed at the back of his throat.

“That’s it.” He says, his voice thick with emotion. “That’s the creature that killed our king and Duncan.”

Ana stands there, gaping at the creature as her brother-warden reluctantly edges forward. Her eyes widen as she hisses his name. The creature is clearly dead and has been for some time but, the darkspawn they had first encountered when they entered the ruins was a genlock necromancer— which wore an eerily similar yet tarnished version of Cailan’s armor— who had the frightening ability to make the dead rise once more to fight. After it had risen some slain darkspawn to fight, it had escaped and had yet to be seen again. With their luck, it could be hiding nearby in wait to spring out and raise some of their own fallen soldiers or other darkspawn to fight them off.

She glances around nervously while Alistair approaches the creature, his eyes falling of the familiar silverite sword and dagger embedded deep within the creature’s chest. Using its massive arm, he climbs on top the creature and, as he attempts to dislodge his mentor’s blades, a bloodcurdling screech comes from off in the distance. All three eyes shift towards the sound as they see the creepy grin of the necromancer from earlier. It raises its crude staff and a dark purple mist rises  from the ground. The mist thickens to a fog, forming a barrier between the two wardens and Morrigan.

“Alistair!” Ana cries as her brother-warden disappears from her view. Her heart quickens as she hears the eerie groans from around her. She looks around helplessly looking around even though she sees nothing but darkness. The moment she unsheathes her sword, she feels something bone-like grab her boot. She swings wildly in the darkness, hoping it’s not either of her companions trying to crawl their way back to her.  At one point, she swings and feels her blade sink into what can only be flesh before she pulls it free. Her sword hand shakes as she spins around, unsure where the next thing will come from when she sees a faint ethereal-looking blue light barely peeking through the thick fog.

Again, she calls out for her companions and cuts down things as they draw close enough to see their outline from the light. The fog slowly begins to dissipate and Ana is able to make out the undead soldiers drawing closer. Using the techniques Alistair showed her during their training exercises, she hacks and slashes at the corpses coming at her until there’s a small pile of bodies collected around her feet.

Taking advantage of the small break from combat, Ana glances around in time to see a dark purple orb shoot out form the tip of the necromancer’s staff and hit the fallen ogre just as Morrigan freezes it, it’s staff still raised in the air. A low grumble emerges from the ogre and Ana notices Alistair still sitting atop it. Both wardens’ eyes widen as the creature slowly begins to rise to its feet with Alistair dangling from the weapons inside it, holding on for dear life. The ogre checks its surroundings, seemingly oblivious to the warden helplessly dangling from its broad chest. Catching sight of Ana, it lets out a ferocious screech and runs at her, plucking her from where she stood within a matter of seconds.

Similar to what it did to Cailan, the creature shakes her violently making her head whip back and forth. Before it can make the killing blow that it had used previously to kill the king, its momentum is halted as Alistair frees the dagger from its chest and plunges it deep within its eye socket. It lets out a shriek and swings Ana around wildly before it releases her, sending her flying halfway across the clearing. Slamming back first into the large, gnarled trunk of a tree at the edge of the field, her head whipping back and striking it on the unforgiving wood before falling on top of a couple mangled corpses.

Dizzy and breathless, her vision blurs as she clings to the mass beneath her in an attempt to get her bearings. Meanwhile, Alistair is bucked around wildly as the ogre tosses its head and flails around in attempt to throw the pest attached to him. The dagger dislodges and he falls back onto the bloodied snow, dodging the creature’s enormous feet as it stomps around in pain.

Taking advantage as it turns away from him, Alistair scrambles to his feet and unsheathes his sword. With dagger and sword in hand, he lets out a battle cry and runs at the creature, lunging with the blades pointed outward. They sink deep within the heavy muscle and tissue of its upper back and it roars in pain as Alistair’s weigh pulls them down, blood spraying as its innards are exposed. The ogre bucks and turns, reaching for Alistair in vain before his grip slips and he falls back onto the ground. Watching it stagger around, he crawls back over the fallen bodies just as it swivels and falls face-first to the ground, blackish blood oozing out of its wounds and sinking into the snow. Taking a moment to catch his breath, he falls back onto a half-frozen corpse of another darkspawn and quickly distances himself from it.

For a brief moment, everything is silent before a screech rings through the clearing making Alistair’s head snap in its direction. Immobilized by Morrigan, the necromancer stands perfectly still as flames lick at it’s flesh, sending a revolting burning smell through the air before finally collapsing to ground with a metallic clang.

Covering his nose and mouth with his arm, Alistair returns to his feet and walks over to the ogre and pulls out his sword from the creature’s back before wiping it on his boot and returning it to its scabbard before retrieving Duncan’s dagger. As he used the bottom of his tabard to clean it, he placed it on his belt before looking at the creature once more. He pushes against its side, grunting with the effort. Morrigan shoots him an amused glance before she raises a hand and casually flicks it to the side.

Without warning, Alistair falls backward as the creature jerks upwards onto its side before slumping back down facing upwards. She cackles evilly from where she stands as he scrambles back to his feet. “A warning would have been nice.” He mutters with a grimace, brushing off the guts and blood he fell into as a blush creeps to his cheeks.

Climbing on top of the creature once more, he casts a cursory glance around before working on freeing the sword from its chest. Once he pulls it free, he stands atop the creature and cleans the sword before hoping off it. His gaze travels around the area, his mouth set in a determined line while he searches for his mentor’s body. “That makes no sense…” He mutters with a frown. “This is where he…”

His gaze lands on a still Ana, draped over a few corpses off in the distance. “Ana.” He breathes, sprinting over to her. “Ana!” He calls. Skidding to a stop, he sets Duncan’s sword down and drops down beside her. “Ana…” He says again, tentatively shaking her shoulder. With no response, his heart begins to race and he takes out Duncan’s dagger. Leaning over her, he angles the blade and feels relief as he sees that she’s still breathing. Setting the dagger beside Duncan’s sword, he shakes her again, once more saying her name.

Regaining consciousness, her head begins to throb as she opens her eyes before shutting them once more, instantly regretting it. A groan escapes from her and she becomes increasingly aware of somebody saying her name.

“Alistair?” She croaks, not opening her eyes.

“I’m here.” She hears him say softly. “Are you alright?”

She doesn’t speak for a moment and he says her name once more. “Hm?”

“Are you all right?” He asks again, the worry evident in his voice. “Can you move?”

Carefully, she starts to move, wincing as she feels a sharp pain in the back of her skull and along her spine.

“Easy now.” Alistair says, gently. “Take your time.”

“We should probably get going before any more dead things rise again.” Morrigan comments from off to the side, nonchalantly examining her darkly painted nails. Alistair glares at her but she doesn’t notice. He turns his attention to Ana, his expression softening as he lowers his voice.

“Ana, I was so worried—” He begins.

Seeing the blood and guts on her and what she’s lying on, a wave of nausea hits her and she turns away from Alistair and retches into the snow.

Grimacing, he looks away as Morrigan makes a disgusted noise. Once she seems finished, her arms  which she’s leaning on buckles slightly and she feels Alistair grab her to stabilize her. “Come on. Let’s get you up.”

He helps her to her feet and she pulls away, clinging to the tree and leans her head against the cold trunk, closing her eyes. After checking that she’s alight for the moment he picks up the sword and dagger from the snow once more and places the dagger in his belt and unsheathes his sword and replaces it with Duncan’s.

“Those are your mentor’s weapons, are they not?” Morrigan asks coolly.

“They are.” Alistair mutters. “What of it?”

Her darkly painted lips turn upwards into a smirk. “Then I believe by taking them, you are, in your words, grave robbing.”

He shoots her a glare but says nothing as he walks past her towards the slain creature. “This is for you, Duncan.” He whispers, shoving the blade into the ground beside the creature. Dropping down onto one knee, he kneels before it and bows his head to say a brief prayer to the Maker for Duncan. Once he rises, he wipes the tears that had begun to form and takes a deep breath before turning on his heel. Returning to Ana, who hasn’t moves since he left her, he leans close to the tree. “Ana?”

“Hm?” She mutters, not opening her eyes.

“How are you feeling?” He asks, stepping forward in case she falls over.

“Terrible.” She mutters.

“Can you at least walk?”

She says nothing for a moment before nodding. “I think so.”

Putting her arm around his neck, he helps her away from the trees and pile of corpses before her legs give out once more. He helps her up once more before she collapses once more.

“Perhaps we should just leave her?” Morrigan offers, jokingly. Her grin falls as Alistair glares at her before he kneels and picks Ana up in his arms.

“I can…walk.” Ana weakly protests.

“Somehow I doubt that since you can barely stand.” Alistair retorts. He glances at Morrigan. “Seems we’ll have to gather what we can and make camp sooner than expected tonight.” He looks down at Ana who has passed out once more. “She needs to get some rest. Hopefully she’ll be feeling better tomorrow. She hit her head pretty hard.”

“There’s a clearing not far from here that will suffice.” Morrigan says, turning and beginning to walk back through the ruins.

“What about tents?” Alistair calls to her as he tries to catch up.

“I already have what we need for tonight.” She says with a dismissive wave.


	2. You're Not Alone

By nightfall, they had made camp about a mile and a half away from Ostagar. Ana floated in and out of consciousness while Alistair set up the tent that Morrigan had taken from camp and had, somehow, stored it amongst other things. When asked about it, she simply smirked and told him it was none of his concern. Flemeth has graciously provided them with some lumpy bedrolls which Alistair set Ana on while Morrigan set off to gather firewood. With the witch’s absence, he sat in the tent beside his sister-warden ensuring to check every so often if she was still breathing.

At one point, after leaning down close enough to hear her light breathing, he took a moment to really look at her. He moved a piece of dark brown hair from her face and took in her noble high cheekbones, full lips and solemn expression. His gaze swept over her face, taking in the scrapes and slight bruising that had begun to form from her encounter with the ogre. A frown tugs at the corners of his mouth as his eyes slip down toward her split lower lip. _She's been so much recently. If I could kiss away the hurt, I would._  As soon as he thought it, his eyes widen as he’s reminded of the countless lectures he endured on such manners in the Chantry. Cheek reddening, he quickly pulls away with a muttered apology.

A groan emits from his fellow warden and his head snaps in her direction. “Ana?” He says softly, leaning down once more to hear a whispered reply. As he waits for a response, he jumps as the flaps of the tent open and a dark-haired head pops in.

“Again! A warning would be nice!” He hisses.

Looking between them, she raises a perfectly sculpted brow. “Have I interrupted something?” She asks, a smug grin spreading around her face as his blushing deepens.

“No! She groaned and I was listening for a response.” He says quickly, averting his gaze. He shakes his head in attempt to shed the thoughts from earlier. “What do you want?”

She casts a quick glance at Ana’s still form before thrusting a couple of rabbits onto his lap. “The fire is ready.” She says coolly before ducking back out of the tent. “You may cook tonight.”

Casting a final glance at Ana, he lets out an annoyed sigh and exits the tent. “You know, you could be a bit more—” He starts to complain only to find her nowhere in sight. His brows furrow as he looks around in confusion. Muttering a curse under his breath, he shakes his head and sits down, getting started on the rabbits.

It wasn’t until the rabbits had been skinned, gutted and cooked before Morrigan finally saunters back into camp. Alistair looks across the flames at her, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. “Where did you suddenly disappear of to?”

Tearing off a haunch from one of the rabbits lying in the pan she says nothing.

“Hello?”

Taking a bite of her food, her golden eyes shift up to look at him, the fire making them glow even more than normal. “That’s none of your concern.”

“You say that about everything.” He growls, lifting his food up to his mouth. “Have you ever thought—”

“Do you two ever shut up?”

Both turn to look as Ana, pale and looking as though she’s about to pass out, slowly walks toward them. Setting his tin plate aside, he jumps to his feet to help her but she slaps his hands away. “Don’t touch me.” She sneers.

Withdrawing his hands, he frowns. “I didn’t expect you to wake up so soon.”

“Hard not to when you two are bickering back and forth.” Ana mutters, wincing as she lowers herself to the cold ground. Alistair offers her some rabbit which she waves away, still tasting the bile that came up earlier in her mouth. “Do we have anything to drink?” She asks, looking around.

“Are you going to retch again?” Morrigan mocks her with a grimace.

Ana shoots her a glare as Alistair hands her his water pouch. “Actually, I was thinking about doing that on you once you go to sleep.” Morrigan wrinkles her nose and Ana smirks before she wiping the spout of the pouch and taking a long swig.

“How are you feeling?” Alistair asks her, reaching for the pouch as she hands it back. His hand touches hers and she instantly retracts it.

“My head still feels like I took a warhammer to the head, my entire back hurts and I constantly feel like I'm going to throw up.” Ana frowns. “Other than that, I feel fantastic.”

Alistair snorts as he turns to Morrigan. “As a mage, you can heal her, right?”

She raises a brow. “For somebody who used to be a templar, you really don’t know anything about mages, do you?”

Feeling both women’s gazes on him, he averts his gaze. “I wasn’t a templar.” He mutters. “I never took my vows.” He lets out a frustrated sigh. “That doesn’t matter. Can you or can’t you?”

“Not all mages can heal.” Morrigan retorts. “I am one such mage who never learned that school of magic.” Her golden gaze flicks over to Ana. “I can, however, mix various potions, tonics, salves and various other things.” She smirks. “Growing up in the wilds has its advantages.”

“Can you make something for my head and/or back?” Ana asks, anxious to rid herself of the pain. “I would greatly appreciate it.”

Seeing that the tables of power have shifted, Morrigan gives a nonchalant shrug as she rises to her feet. “Perhaps. If you have the right ingredients.”

“We’ll find whatever you need.” With some difficulty, she also rises so that she can look Morrigan in the eyes. “Just please…make this go away.”

“We’ll see.”

* * *

 

Later that night, Ana stands in the tent, muttering curses under her breath as she attempts to take off her armor to sleep when Alistair enters the tent.

“Need some help?” He asks, coolly. He was surprised by how steady his voice came out regardless of the nervousness coursing through him. He had never slept alone with a woman before. Not that anything would happen due to her haughty attitude toward him and his lack in experience with women in general. His thoughts from earlier about her lips resurfaced making his cheeks redden and he thanked the Maker that she was turned away from him.

“No. I got it.” Ana mutters, continuing to try and fail at lifting her hauberk off before letting out a small whimper of helplessness.

Taking a deep breath to calm his nerves, he steps forward. “Here.” He says, softly, grabbing the chainmail. He noticed her tense up and slowly lifts it off, making sure to only touch the shirt. As he does so, the tunic and thin nightshirt beneath it lifts slightly to reveal the large black and blue bruises covering her back. Taken back, he almost drops it but is able to keep a hold on it before laying it on the ground beside her bedroll.

She quickly pulls her shirt back down and turns away with a muttered thanks as she lowers herself down on her bedroll. Turning to say goodnight to him, she sees Alistair beginning to remove his plate armor. “What are you doing?” She asks, her eyes widening.

He pauses. “I’m getting ready for bed.”

“In here?” She asks, incredulously. “Shouldn’t you keep it where you sleep?”

His brows draw together in confusion. “I don’t understand…”

Lifting her chin, she scowls at him. “You’re not sleeping in here.”

“Why not?”

She looks at him as though he’s touched in the head. “Seriously? Because it’s improper for a lady --” She begins to say as Alistair rolls his eyes. “Stop that.”

“I don’t see the problem! Why I can’t sleep in here?” He says, crossing his arms over his chest as he looks down at her. “We slept in the same tent at Ostagar.”

She purses her lips. “That was different, It wasn’t just you and I. We were with the other wardens in case you tried anything.”

Nervousness aside, he snorts. “Don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart.”

Her eyes flare. “Excuse you? What’s that supposed to mean?”

Her turns away from her and continues to remove his armor which only angers her more. With a huff, she glances around her for something to throw and sees her sword belt lying off to the side, picking it up, scabbard and all, she throws it at him, the hilt hitting him on his side and falling to the ground. “Answer me!”

"Ow!" Jumping, he looks down at the sword then glances up at her. “What?”

She points towards the flaps of the tent, her nostrils flaring angrily. “Leave.” She hisses.

Turning to face her, he crosses his arms over his chest defiantly. “Are you mad? It’s freezing out there! I’m staying here.” Laying the gauntlet in his hand next to his bedroll, he grimaces. “This is what I get for carrying you a mile and a half? Maybe I should have left you at Ostagar.” He mutters, not expecting for her to hear him. When he looks up, he sees the hurt look that she tries to hide. His expression softens as he lets out a sigh. “I’m sorry.” He frowns. “I didn’t mean that.”

Averting her gaze, she turns away from him as a rogue tear slips down her cheek. “Fine. One night but you must sleep on the far other side.” She says, gruffly as she tries to keep the emotion out of her voice. “After tonight, we find you another tent. Understand?”

He nods, even though she can’t see it.” Understood. Goodnight, Lady Ana.”

* * *

 

Alistair tosses in his sleep, hearing murmurs and hushed voices. It takes him a few moments until he realizes that the sounds are coming from nearby. Opening his eyes, it takes a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness before he sees the sloping ceiling of the canvas above. As quietly as he can, he pulls himself up into an upright position and looks around, silently praying that it’s not darkspawn, or worse, Morrigan.

He sits still listening for the low hum that sounds in his mind whenever the darkspawn are near. What he hears in not the humming but sobbing. Frowning, he waits and listens until he hears a sniffle coming from Ana’s still form at the other side of the tent. “Ana?” He whispers into the darkness.

Hearing her name, she pauses. She feels the heat rise to her cheeks as she quickly tries to wipe the tears that have been spilling down her cheeks for the past hour. “What?” She snaps. “If you’re going to try something…”

Alistair stays where he is. “Are you alright?” He gently asks. “I heard you sniffling.”

“Of course, I’m sniffling.” She snaps. “It’s freezing in here! This bedroll is lumpy and smells musty…” Feeling the tears beginning to rise once more, she stops, closing her eyes as a rogue tear slips down her cheek. From the other side of the tent, she hears the sound of metal clanking together as Alistair moves his armor pieces aside and scooches a bit closer. She feels his presence close by and moves closer to the canvas.

“Ana.” He says once more. “Please turn to look at me.”

“Why?” She asks. “I’m fine.”

“Please?”

For a moment, she lies perfectly still before she carefully sits up and turns to face him, wincing as her back protests. She sees the outline of his hair before her eyes adjust and she sees his face as he watches her. She hated how he was looking at her as though she was some pathetic urchin on the street. “What?” She asks, clenching her jaw in attempt to keep the tears at bay.

“I’m sorry about what I said earlier. I didn’t mean to hurt you...”

She rolls her eyes. “Don’t be stupid. I wasn’t crying over you.”

“Oh good. Here I was hoping you weren’t getting too attached to me. I’ve been told how incredibly addictive I can be.”

Her brows draw together for a moment before she gets that he’s joking. The joke is so stupid yet she finds herself cracking a small smile. “Don’t flatter yourself.” She scoffs, repeating his words from earlier.

“There it is.” He grins. “That’s the smile I was hoping for.”

Feeling a flicker of affection towards him, she quickly looks down at the ground. _It’s a good thing it’s dark_ , she thinks to herself as she feels the heat rise to her cheeks.

Alistair’s grin falters as she looks away. Taking a chance, he tentatively reaches out to touch her boot. “Hey.”

She looks down at his hand then back up at him. 

“If you weren’t crying about what I said, what were you crying about?” He asks, taking his hand off her boot but letting it linger close by. “I know you’ve been through a lot these past couple months but, you can tell me. I’ll understand…” He gives her a sheepish grin. “Or at least I’ll try to.”

As she looks at him, she’s about to push his hand away from her and tell him to go to bed yet something deep down wanted to talk about everything. She shrugs. “After revisiting Ostagar, it just all hit me.” Feeling suddenly self-conscious, she looks down. “It wasn’t until I saw the bodies that I realized that…” She pauses as a rogue tear breaks free and slides down her cheek yet makes no effort to wipe it away. “I’m alone and have nothing.”  Grasping the edge of her tunic in her hands, she gives it a squeeze. “Everything is gone. My parents were killed, I have no idea what has become of Fergus, my home was taken by a usurper along with my titles and lands and now…” Tears spill freely down her cheeks as she sniffs. “The wardens and everything else is gone too! I’m completely alone in this world.”

Without thinking, Alistair rises up onto his knees and instantly pulls her into an embrace, adjusting his arms so that he’s not pressing on her bruised back. Realizing what he’s doing, he’s about to release her and apologize when he feels her wrap her arms around his shoulders and buries her face in his shoulder. He holds her, staying as still as he can as she sobs into his shoulder, wetting the thin fabric before he risking reaching up to stroke the back of her hair. As he does this, her sobs become quieter and he slowly feels her begin to relax. “It’s okay.” He whispers into her hair. “You’re not alone. I’m right here.”

They stay there, locked in an embrace for quite a long time before Ana finally pulls away, embarrassed at having such a vulnerable moment. She takes in a shaky breath, not looking at him. “We should...um.” She begins to say, unsure of what can be said after such an intimate moment.

“Right!” He quickly nods. “Big day of travelling tomorrow. Need to get some rest.”

“Uh...yeah.”

Alistair returns to his side of the tent, his heart racing as he lies back down. “Well… goodnight.”

Ana lies back down on her side and pulled her blanket around her, confused at the mix of emotions coursing through her. “Goodnight...." She pauses a moment. "Alistair?”

“Hm?”

There’s another short pause and he opens his mouth to ask her what she needs when she speaks. “Thank you.”

A smile creeps up to his face. “Anytime.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not used to writing in 3rd person so, if you see the tenses are messed up please let me know so I can correct them! Enjoy! :)


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